A/N: Hey everyone…sorry for the delay in updating. I'm having a hard time at home right now (see I can tell all of you, because none of you KNOW me…) and I REALLY don't want to be harassed about a stupid fanfic. So you get your updates when you get them, and I don't know how much energy I'm going to have to spend on this.
Special thanks to BlackPriestess for reviewing so nicely…if you haven't been reading her story 'Severus Snape Favorite Enemy' you really should be.
Anyway, without further ado…here's the next chapter.
Harry didn't believe in gravity anymore. In the short walk from the lakeside grove of trees to the dark castle, he firmly believed that he could have lifted off the ground any time he chose. He wouldn't even have needed his Firebolt. He was lighter than air.
In fact, the only thing stopping him from taking flight this very second was Severus's arm encircling his waist, gently pulling them together, and the feel of his hip bumping into the older man's.
It was still raining, and now that he was no longer in the throes of ecstasy, Harry was beginning to feel the cold. Strangely enough, however, he was perfectly happy. He'd rather be out in the pouring rain, lightening shocking the sky all around him, drenched to the point of saturation, with Severus's body near his, warming him, than inside the cozy Griffindor common-room.
But there was something wrong. Severus's arm around his waist didn't exactly shove him away, but neither did it pull him close. And they did not speak as they walked towards the castle, although Harry would have liked to. He felt, with panic creeping slightly into his thoughts, that this was familiar. Last time it had been perfect too. Last time he'd been happy too. And last time it had gone horrible wrong once the euphoria faded.
Once inside the castle the older man shrugged off the cloak and strode forwards, not looking at Harry, and the feeling of something being wrong seemed to intensify. Harry bundled the cloak up and followed, trotting to keep up with Severus's long strides.
"What's wrong?"
"Five points from Griffindor."
Harry stared at the older man. "What?"
"You will address me as 'Sir'."
"I—what?"
"You heard me Potter."
Harry wondered if he could be losing his mind. He opened his mouth to give an incredulous reply, and found himself pushed hard against a cold wall, his shoulders grasped in bony hands.
"Be quiet, you fool."
"But what—?"
Severus silenced him with a sharp shake of his head. "Look behind me."
Harry looked. Behind Severus's head was a stone wall, the same as every other wall in the castle. A short, balding man was watching them from his picture frame, shaking his head in disapproval. Harry started to frown, confused, when he met the man's eyes. Oh.
"That portrait hangs in Dumbledore's office, doesn't it?"
"Professor Dumbledore, Potter. Show some respect."
Harry looked up at the man he was hopelessly in love with, and wished that he could read something in those eyes. "Sorry, Sir."
Severus stepped back, a look of disgust on his face, as though he couldn't bear to touch Harry, and nodded curtly. "You will come down to the dungeons this instant and explain your behavior earlier today. I will ensure that Professor Dumbledore is informed of your indiscretion."
If Harry hadn't been reasonably certain that this was an act for Armando Dippit's portrait, he'd have been terrified and furious. As it was, he was only…well…terrified and furious. He laughed mentally at himself, but kept his face straight. Besides, once the fleeting thought was gone from his head, Harry could think of very little to laugh about.
They reached the dungeons fairly quickly, and turned into a hallway Harry vaguely recognized. Then, several feet down the corridor, they turned again, and Harry found himself in the dimly lit chambers he recognized.
The memory of the last time he'd been here made him blush, and, to avoid looking around any more than was necessary, Harry looked at Severus.
Who was most decidedly not looking at him.
The older man was kneeling by the fireplace, muttering something. Harry watched, entranced in spite of himself, as Severus rose up, silhouetted against the leaping flames.
"My tall dark stranger." Harry commented wryly, before he could stop himself. It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, because Severus moved a step closer, his face thrown in to shadow still, to loom over him.
"I am not amused, Potter."
Harry threw up his hands, feeling that he was inches from tears. He didn't understand what was happening. "What are you doing?"
He was answered with another question. "What do you want from me, boy?"
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that.
"I—"
"I do not take kindly to being toyed with."
"I—what?"
"This is a game, is it not?"
"No."
"Why this pretense of attraction?"
"It's not a bloody pretense! I wouldn't have shagged you twice already if I wasn't attracted to you!"
"Is it some bet with Weasely?"
"No!"
"Then what? A ploy to make me lose my job?"
"No!"
"Do not lie to me, Potter!"
Harry strode forwards, his fists clenched in fury, and shoved the taller man backwards until he connected heavily with a wall. "I am not lying to you!"
Severus, breathing heavily, looked down on him, his face unreadable, and Harry felt his anger seep away. "I'm not lying to you, or toying with you. Damn it, I don't know what else to say."
"If I were not quite certain otherwise, Potter, I would say you were intoxicated."
Harry laughed bitterly. "I don't understand you. One minute you're fine, and the next you're ready to leap at my throat. Why is it so hard to believe that I'm honestly hopeless about you?"
Severus's voice, when he answered, was just as bitter, but full of something else as well—something Harry didn't recognize at first. "Unless you have been jinxed, I find it very difficult indeed, Potter." He brushed by Harry and strode to a chair in front of the fire, sinking into it, putting his face in his hands. Harry looked on with a mixture of concern and awe; he'd never seen Severus look so drained before.
The voice that came from Severus now was very tired, and Harry finally recognized the self-loathing that was wrapped around every syllable. "I am twice your age, with a body that has never been attractive, particularly now that it has begun to decline, and a personality that has never made anyone express any emotion but hatred. I am not a desirable person, Potter."
Harry moved to stand in front of the chair, and then kneeled so his face was level with the older man's.
"I don't care. I don't think I can live without being near you, no matter what that takes. If you don't…don't want me, I can understand. But I don't want a life that doesn't involve you. I don't want you to send me away from you, no matter what you ask of me."
Harry felt, to his mortification, a tear trickling down one cheek. Then he felt a firm hand take hold of his chin and turn it. He met Severus's eyes reluctantly, afraid of what he'd see there. They were unreadable, as always.
"Harry, I cannot feel what you're feeling."
Another tear followed the first, and Harry wished the floor would swallow him up where he knelt. But Severus reached one long finger out to brush the tear away, and something close to tenderness showed in his face for a second.
"I do, however, feel…something. You are much younger than me, and although it is by no means fair to you, I do not believe I have it in me to send you away."
Harry took hold of Severus's hands and repeated the gesture the older man had made to him, earlier, by raising them to his lips and kissing them lightly.
Framed by the firelight, Harry leaned forwards and brushed his lips against Severus's. "Good."
"Perhaps not the word I would have chosen, but it will suffice."
"Then you'll accept that I'm actually attracted to you?"
"It seems I have no alternative."
"And you'll tolerate me being around you?"
Severus frowned slightly. "If you were not my student, I would agree in a second, but Harry…"
"I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"No. If we are to be involved, it must remain secret until you've graduated."
"But I'm of age!" Harry protested hotly.
"And you are still my student."
Harry rested his forehead on the arm of the chair and felt, feather light, Severus's hand on his hair.
"Can I at least stay here tonight?"
There was a sigh above him, and silence for a minute. Then, finally, "No."
"I didn't think so." Before he could say anything else, Severus had risen to his feet, pulling Harry after him.
"You should go now, actually. I'm not sure how long I would be able to resist the temptation to have you stay the night."
"I know." Harry looked up, miserable, at Severus, worshiping the other man with his eyes, and was rewarded with a hard kiss. "You won't change your mind by tomorrow?"
"No. You have my word."
They stood there, the warmth of the fire seeping into their skin, for several long minutes, before Severus kissed him once more, almost desperately, and pushed him towards the door.
Drenched, thoroughly miserable, and yet happier than he could ever remember being, Harry made his way back along the hallway, wanting only to fall into bed and never get up.
Back in his chambers, Severus sat staring into the fireplace long after Harry crept into bed, his hand pressed lightly to his lips, as if trying to find a trace of something he longed for. He slept, finally, still in his chair, but for the first time since he could remember, he slept without draining a dangerous amount of Firewhiskey.
A/N: Please give me nice reviews. If this chapter wasn't up to scratch, LIE. I'm within an inch of abandoning this story because of everything that's happening right now, so if it's no good, there's no point continuing it.